I want
With the stroke of my pen, to strike you down
With the blink of my eyes, to unsee you

More importantly

I need
With the tools I surely possess, to repair my own heart
With the uncommon grace that is my sinew, to forgive you


I love that he answered the call
Hung up a shingle, of sorts
And waits bold in the Capitol street-front picture window at 8:52am
To tell us it’s never too late
But it’s time